Blame Game
by paganpunk2
Summary: <html><head></head>Four-year-old John Bruce Grayson is not happy that his father isn't home to tuck him in, and demands that Grandpa Bruce do something about it. But what do you tell a child who doesn't know he's been born into a family of superheroes? Contains fluff, cuddles, and a Dick Grayson mini-me.</html>


**Author's Note: Here's a fun little romp featuring Bruce and his grandson, John Bruce Grayson. Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>Bruce had just reached the top of the stairs after a long evening of playing the simpering socialite when a door slammed down the hall. Pounding footsteps made their way towards him, their short spacing giving away the runner's identity long before he rounded the corner and came into view. Even though he knew that his grandson was only awake at this hour because he was being ornery, Bruce couldn't help but smile.<p>

"Whoa there, chum," he greeted, sweeping the four-year-old up easily. His grin tried to spread and falter simultaneously as he recognized the flannel footie version of Nightwing's costume that the child had been put to bed in. On the one hand, it was adorable; on the other, it reminded him that the true owner of that bright blue stripe was absent. "What are you doing out of bed?"

A petulant pout appeared. "I want daddy!"

The billionaire opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by an imperative from the end of the corridor. "John Bruce Grayson! Get back here!" Both he and the boy looked up to find Barbara rolling forward with a less-than-pleased expression on her face. "…Hi, Bruce," she sighed, her voice losing some of its ire as she came to a stop a few feet away. "I see you captured my runaway."

"'Runaway'?" He peered down into the painfully familiar eyes the preschooler had inherited from his father. "You weren't trying to run away, were you, kiddo?"

"I want _daddy_! I want daddy _now_!" Tears began to roll down his cheeks. "Want daaaddy…" he moaned, and collapsed against his bearer's shoulder.

"I know, Johnny," the billionaire soothed, squeezing him closer. "I know. I'm ready for him to come home, too. But he's away at work, remember?"

"Noooo…make him come hoooome!"

"I must have told him eighty times now that we just have to wait," Barbara lamented, her face pinching at the sound of her son's wails. "All it seems to do is make him more frustrated. I don't suppose you have any idea how much longer...?"

"No," he shook his head. "I wish I did."

"...I _hate_ these open-ended missions," she grumbled.

"I know. I do, too." He had never felt one way or the other about his eldest's Romani blood until it had recently made him indispensable for so many tasks. Word of the help he'd given to one small caravan in the Carpathian Mountains eighteen months earlier had spread like wildfire, and as other Roma groups began to advocate for their own rights more and more calls had been made for the Justice League to be involved. Invariably the people wanted Nightwing, who they had privately determined was one of them, on their case. They trusted him in a way that they refused to trust outsiders, even those like Superman and Martian Manhunter who could speak their language perfectly but lacked the necessary pedigree. Nightwing was their champion, and it was nigh impossible for him to refuse their requests for his help.

"Where's daddy now?" Johnny mumbled a question against Bruce's collar.

"He's on business, kiddo. He's at work." _I wish I could tell you the truth,_ he ached. _I wish I could tell you just how much of a hero your father is. But you're still too young..._ Before too many more years had passed the child in his arms would be introduced to the dangerous masquerade in which every adult in his family took part, and then he might understand. For now, though, they had to keep up the pretense that Dick was away on Wayne Enterprises work. The boy didn't like it, and Bruce didn't either, but there was no alternative. "He'll be home soon."

"Make him come home _now_!"

"I _can't_, chum."

"You're his boss! Make him come home to me!"

"...I-" He faltered. His eyes met Barbara's over the child's shoulder, but she clearly had no answer either. They had expected there to be rebellion and a connecting of points in Johnny's mind sooner or later, but this was too soon. "...I know I'm his boss," he recovered. "But that doesn't mean I can just call him home whenever I want. For one thing, he wouldn't get the work he went to do done, and for another, he wouldn't like me jerking him around like that. You don't want your daddy to be mad at me, do you?"

"No," the preschooler answered slowly. "But I want him _home_! Home, here!"

"I know, and-"

"You sent him away!"

"Johnny!" Barbara gasped. "Don't say that!"

"You sent him," the boy insisted, now pressing his hands against Bruce's shoulder as if he was trying to get away. "You did it! You made him work!" He wriggled about until his carrier set him down for fear of dropping him. "It's _your_ fault!" he launched, glaring above his wet cheeks. "I want daddy, and it's _your_ fault, Grandpa!" With that he took off down the hall once more.

"Johnny!" his mother called, trying to snag his arm as he bolted by her. "Boy, I swear...you're too smart for your own good. I'm sorry, Bruce."

"It's...it's okay," he allowed, rubbing at the back of his neck. When Johnny had vanished around the corner, he went on. "What he said wasn't technically wrong whether you look at it from the point of view of the story we've told him or from reality. I _am_ Dick's boss, and I'm also the one who gave him a mask and raised him wearing it. No matter how you look at it, I'm culpable for his not being here tonight."

"Well...he still shouldn't have said that."

"He's just a little boy who wants to see his father more," he brushed off his hurt as best he could. "I'm sure I said similar – or worse – things when I was his age. Not that Dick is gone nearly as much as my father was, but...you get the point."

"I know, it just...it frustrates me. It's like Dick can't say no to these Romani missions, you know?"

"It's important to him," he shrugged. "Not just the fighting for justice part, but all of it. He told me recently that he feels like he's discovering a part of himself with these people that he didn't know existed. He said he wants to learn as much as he can so that he can pass more of his heritage down to Johnny. I think telling him that kiddo's starting to make some uncomfortable connections will get him to slow down and be a bit more careful, but other than that...other than that it seems best to let it go."

She peered at him. "...That last part sounds an awful lot like Alfred."

"...Oh, hell, is it that obvious?" He gave in with a chuckle. "Yes. I _did_ talk to Alfred, and it _is _the advice that he gave me that I'm giving you now."

"Because you think it's right, or because you want your eggs cooked properly in the morning?" the woman teased.

"A little of both, probably." He sighed. "I don't know, Barbara. I thought I learned a long time ago not to stand in Dick's way when he's set on something, but I still want to stop him every time he heads out on a quest without me." He shook his head. "...Maybe I'll head downstairs and see if I can't get a firmer date on his return. Can you handle Johnny?"

"So long as he doesn't slam the door in my face and then run away again, you bet. But I don't think that will be a problem," she added as she about-faced. "I'm guessing he's halfway cried himself to sleep by now. Part of me hates to let him do that, but...it works so well, you know?"

"Yeah," he agreed, recalling plenty of nights when he'd held a different Grayson boy tight until he'd sniffled himself into slumber. "It does. Goodnight, Barbara."

"Good night, Bruce. And don't take what he said personally; he'll probably have forgiven you completely by morning."

"I hope so," he smiled. The day didn't start until he'd gotten his morning hug, after all. He would never speak such a sentiment aloud, but it was the truth, and it was an even more important ritual than usual when Johnny was the only one home to share it with him.

He had just stepped into the cave when the sound of low, conversing voices stopped him. _Tim and Damian must be back early,_ he frowned. _Unless Alfred's talking to himself down here, or- _He drew to a stop at the beginning of the next room and felt a happy smile curve his lips. _Or my boy's home. I'll take that._

"Hey!" Dick exclaimed as soon as he saw him. "Sorry, Alfred," he apologized over his shoulder as he trotted out of their discussion mid-sentence.

"Not at all, young sir," the butler excused, smirking as the much-younger man vaulted a staff stand rather than going around it. "I'm rather used to it by now."

Bruce tipped him an apologetic wink in the split second before his son was on him. Squeezing him possessively, he gave him a warning in place of a hello. "You'd better go put your mini-me to bed."

"Huh?" Dick pulled back and ran one hand over his hair, his face quizzical. "What's little bit still doing up? Isn't it almost midnight here?"

"It is. I think he's been put to bed several times now by his mother, and probably at least once by Alfred-"

"Twice, sir."

"-Twice by Alfred. The problem is, neither of them are you."

"Well no, but he always accepts you in my place."

"I wasn't here tonight. I had an event." Bruce tapped one of the cufflinks gleaming at his wrists. "I haven't even been back long enough to change. Not that it would have mattered, since he's mad at me, but still."

"Whaaaat? No way is Johnny mad at you. He likes you better than he likes me, and I'm half the reason he exists!"

"Well, chum, he likes you enough that he's mad at me for sending you away on work and then not calling you back at his request."

"Oooooh..." Dick winced. "He didn't actually _say_ that, right? I mean, you're just extrapolating."

"Yes and no. He said I'm your boss and that it's my fault you get sent away so much and can't come home immediately."

"...Oh. Ah..."

"Don't apologize," Bruce ordered.

"But-"

"No," he stopped him again. "Don't. It's not your fault that he said what he said. It hurt, but he's a child; he was just being honest about how he felt. And he wasn't wrong, so...there's that."

"Maybe that wasn't my fault, but my being away from home so much this last year or so has been," Dick countered. "It's just...they need help, Bruce. They need help, and they trust me. They don't tell the others everything they tell me, you know? Sometimes that information makes a huge difference. I know it's not very good parenting for me to be gone so much, especially when he's this young, but...how can I say no to them? Some of these missions have to do with the civil rights of an entire people. I know he doesn't understand now, but someday, when he's old enough...well, what equal example of justice could I give him if I stayed home?"

Bruce smiled sadly as his eyes grew hot. "You sound like me," he remarked quietly.

"Huh?"

"You sound like me," he repeated. "I said the same thing when you were young and I was gone on patrol or a mission. Yes, you wanted me home, but you had Alfred and I had an example to set; now Johnny wants you home, but he's got Alfred and his mother and his uncles and me, and you've still got an example to set. It just struck me, that's all."

"Well..." Dick shuffled his feet. "...Was it the right thing to do, Bruce? I mean...do you regret it, looking back?"

"Mm...I regret the things I missed," he confessed. "I regret the hours I didn't get to spend with you when you were a child. But I don't regret all of the people my actions helped, and I don't regret all the bad that I stopped. And in the end..." He trailed off, staring at the figure before him and struggling to control his emotions.

"In the end, what?"

"...In the end, you turned out to be twice the man that I am," he whispered. "I know my absences might have hurt your feelings at the time, but when I think about how you turned out despite them – as a result of them, maybe – then chum, I wouldn't change a thing."

There were immediately arms around him. "...Don't make me cry when I just got home, huh?" Dick whispered huskily against his throat. "I've got a kid for that."

"I know," he gripped him tightly. "...Go make him squeal for me, would you?"

"You bet, dad. Thanks. For everything, I mean."

When he had vanished into the changing area, Bruce turned to where Alfred was pretending not to overhear. "You know something?" he ventured.

"What is it, sir?"

A fortune, a legacy in both the civilian and the shadow worlds, four sons and a grandson to carry those achievements forward long after he was gone...what more, he marveled, could any man want from life? "…I am by far the luckiest son of a bitch in the world."

The butler gave him a kind but disagreeing smile. "...No, sir," he broke the news gently. "I'm afraid that you're only the second luckiest. But even that is a fine height from which to watch the world go by, is it not?"

Bruce laughed. _Okay, Alfred,_ he conceded with a nod. _You win._

* * *

><p>Small knees tiptoed across his mattress several hours later. Half-conscious, he thought for a moment that it was Dick, made young again through some wonderful magic and coming to cuddle. Only the boy's first word snapped him back to reality.<p>

"...Grandpa?"

_Johnny. _"Hey, kiddo," he mumbled. "What are you doing up?"

"I came to see you." The blankets shifted as the child slithered beneath them, and a moment later Bruce felt warm fingers touch his hand. "…Are you awake?"

"You bet I am. What's up?"

"I saw daddy earlier," a happy gurgle answered.

"Yeah? Did that make you feel better?"

"Uh-huh. _Lots_ better. But…but I also felt bad, too." An apologetic note came into his voice. "I felt bad because I said mean things to you."

Reaching out blindly, Bruce found the boy's hair and began to stroke it. "It's all right, chum," he whispered. "I know why you were upset. I understand."

"…You do?"

"I do."

"But I hurt your feelings, though. Daddy said I made you sad. He said I had to apologize in the morning."

_Diiiick…_ While he could appreciate the good parenting aspect of making Johnny see and understand the effect his words had had, he had a tendency to automatically dislike anything that made his grandson sad. "Is that why you came to see me?" he asked now.

"Uh-huh. I'm not mad at you, Grandpa. I just wanted daddy. I didn't mean to be mean. Are…you're not mad at me, right?"

"No, Johnny. I'm not mad at you." He had learned over twenty years earlier that it was all but impossible to be truly angry with someone you utterly adored, and he saw no point in trying to swim upstream against that maxim now. "But I'm glad that you're feeling better."

"I am. I'm glad you made daddy come home."

He hesitated. He could take credit, he knew, and get away with it. Johnny would think he was a hero, and more importantly the story they'd been spinning for four years to excuse Dick's absences would be strengthened. But it had been pure luck that the younger man had returned tonight; how would he explain things if there were days or weeks still to wait the next time the boy got a bee in his bonnet? "…I didn't make your daddy come home tonight, kiddo," he revealed slowly. "I wish I could take credit for it, but I can't."

"But I asked, and then he came home! If _you_ didn't do it…was it like magic or something?"

"Magic?" He frowned. He was going to have to spend more time talking science with the kid if magic was his first answer when problems resolved themselves. "It wasn't magic. It was just chance. It happened that he finished his work and came home on the same night that you were upset about him being gone. That's all. No magic, and no me. Neither one had anything to do with it."

"…Oh. Well…I'm still glad he's home."

"I am too, chum. I am, too. Now," he went on, "you're going to be very, very tired tomorrow if you don't get some good sleep. Do you want me to take you back to bed, or do you want to stay here with me?"

"Um…is it okay if I go sleep with mommy and daddy? I'd stay here with you," Johnny offered, "but…daddy's home."

"Did they say you could crawl in bed with them without asking first?" The pair had been trying for a little brother or sister for the boy, and he didn't want to walk in on anything.

"They didn't say I _couldn't_ sleep with them."

"Clever bird," he muttered, the corner of his lips twitching upward. "Okay. I'll take you to them, but if they're not sleeping you have to pick between here and your room. Deal?"

"Deal!"

A minute later he was walking down the hall with Johnny in his arms. Rounding the corner, he stopped in front of the bedroom that Barbara and Dick had taken over after their marriage. "Quiet," he told the boy. When thirty seconds went by without any sound from inside, he deemed it relatively safe. When he grabbed the knob, however, it didn't turn. "Hmm…looks like they locked the door, kiddo," he shared his news.

"They locked us out? How come?"

"Well, they probably wanted a little privacy. Remember, your mommy didn't see daddy while he was away, either. She missed him just like you did. That's okay, though," he soothed, turning away and heading back in the direction they'd come before knocking could be suggested. "That just means you get to pick again. My room or yours?"

Johnny looked back and forth between the two doors. Bruce's chamber lay to the right; his own, which had once belonged to his father, sat directly across the hall from it. "Umm…yours," he ruled. "Pretty please?"

Bruce grinned in the dusky corridor. "Absolutely, chum. Let's go get tucked in so we don't get in trouble for not wanting to get up in the morning."

"Okay. But Grandpa?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Will you and daddy stay home from work tomorrow so we can all do something together?"

"I'll do even better than that," he promised as he put him down on the bed. "Tomorrow's Saturday. We can do things together tomorrow _and_ the next day."

"Two days?!" a delighted squeal sounded. "Really really, two whole days?"

"Really really," he acknowledged. "Now come on; it's bedtime. Close your eyes and think about all the things you want to do this weekend, okay?"

"I want to go swimming, and go for a walk, and pla-"

"In your head, Johnny," he chuckled as he pulled him close. "In your head."

It took all of thirty seconds for the boy to nod off. Bruce wasn't far behind him, but before he slipped into slumber a final, triumphant thought rose to the top of his mind.

_Sorry, Alfred,_ he smirked, tightening his grasp on the body beside him. _Looks like I win tonight, after all…_


End file.
